


Bedridden Celebrity Heads

by susiephalange



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Celebrity Heads, F/M, Fluff, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Reader has patience of a saint, mentions of other Avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6907825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro Maximoff needs to rest his pretty body before the next fight after the Ultron scare. Luckily, you're on hand, and have a great idea of how to pass time when the speedster is getting antsy in his pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedridden Celebrity Heads

It had been a sunny Saturday, and with no current missions going on in Stark tower, leaving the team to bandage up their wounds from the battle waged by Ultron only a day previous.

Whilst Dr Banner was MIA and Steve still out searching for his friend Bucky and Clint returned to his farm it left you in the tower with a banged up Tony Stark being attended to by a slightly miffed Helen (Thor hadn't stuck around enough for them to chat much), Wanda in her makeshift bedroom reading magazines and denying any opportunity to be social and a tired Natasha who wasn't in any mood for any training and anyone with a head screwed on right would know to never wake a sleeping Tasha. And you - you, the most un-super superhero - you just wanted someone to hang out with.

The only person who looked like even remotely interested in anything to ease the boredom was Pietro - still healing in the hospital wing of the tower. Since the kick starting of his heart and removal of all the bullets it would seem the fastest man alive was once again alive - but to his dismay, bedridden.

And because of this, he wouldn't quit making those incessant comments and whining that you wouldn't admit to like.

"_______," he moaned, turning to look to you in the bed. If he weren't strapped in and bandaged up and pumped full of pain killers you were sure he'd be spinning around the room in double time. "________ why can't I get out of this damnable cot?"

"Because," you explained, "you were dead a day ago, Pietro. And you have to heal."

He harumfed in response.

"You know, if I wasn't bored out of my brains, I wouldn't be here to chat with you. It would be just you, unable to move, left to your thoughts."

He gave you a suspicious side glance. "You wouldn't leave me here alone to bear the tortures of boredom!" He protested. "Come on, what's a game we can play, I want to run around the least you can do is play with me."

And that was how you found yourself playing celebrity heads using pink post-it notes that someone had left in the infirmary. As clueless as Pietro was to the fact his note read Elmo from Sesame Street, you didn't know a thing that yours was scrawled with Pietro's name.

"Okay..." you began, "Am I male or female?"

"Male," Pietro replied.

You nodded, "Am I famous?"

Pietro frowned, "I don't think so. Yet." he gave a smile, "my turn!"

You nodded. "Go on."

The fastest man alive began asking rapid-fire questions. "Am I old? Am I female? Am I rich?" - too fast for you to hear. Seeing your confusion, he took a deep breath and asked, "Am I a girl?"

"No," you replied.

"Ah," Pietro frowned.

Sighing, you asked, "Am I tall?"

"That's a hard question, ______." Pietro smiled slightly, watching you as you fiddled with the loose strands of hair that escaped your updo. He thought you were very pretty. "The person on your note is taller than Tony Stark, as often observed, so I guess that's your answer."

You smiled slightly. "Ah, so I know them. Okay. It's not Romanoff or Helen, they're a girls..." you mused, "Am I Thor?"

Quicksilver shook his head slowly.

"Am I young?" He asked. Not voicing his anxieties, but he found the fact he couldn't seem to guess who was on his post-it note a little worrying, since you were so far ahead on his.

"Very," you replied. "I think you're three years old or something."

Pietro's eyes widened. He didn't know any three year olds. "Uh," he furrowed his brow, "am I famous?"

You nodded. "Yes..." you thought to add a spanner in the works to confuse him, "I think your face is on lots of merchandise for children."

Those wide eyes widened once more. "Am I that child on the magazines stands, that famous baby? I don't remember the name."

You shook your head. "You're not Prince George or North West, Pietro." You reached out and took his head in yours. It wasn't like any other hand you'd held; it wasn't calloused or soft beyond anything. A shock of something passed between your palms, and you came back from the daydream-y state to add, "Do I like this tall man who I know is on the team?"

He shrugged. "I'd hope so," he answered. Seeing the confusion he added, "Ah, yes."

"Okay. Do I have superpowers?"

He almost gave you a side glance of disgust of the basic question. "Of course!" After this, he realised you were just silently eliminating Clint Barton from the possibilities.

"I'm not Thor or Stark -," you noticed his confusion and added, "Stark can't stand beside Stark to be known as tall - and I'm not Clint. Am I you?" You asked wearily.

A gigantic grin spread across his face, a big goofy grin that you hadn't seen him do around his sister or the tower before.

"Yes! Your celebrity head is me!"

You ripped off the post-it note to make sure of it, and there in black felt tip was written 'Pietro Maximoff' in a hasty cursive handwriting that looked just like him if anyone ever wrote him down.

"So," he continued, "Was I born...sorry can I ask when I was born?"

You nodded, because Pietro wasn't that up to date with the pop culture, especially for children and told him sweetly, "I thinking hand it was 1969 or something."

He stared at you with muted horror.

Many hours later after stubbornly continuing to ask questions and getting almost nowhere, Pietro gave in, almost of the verge of tears (which he wouldn't ever admit).

"Who am I, _______ please, I don't have any idea and you found out my one so quickly!"

You sat up straighter, and releasing his hand to find a picture of Elmo on your phone, showed him the picture of the little red monster from Sesame Street.

"I wasn't a real baby the entire time?"

"You never asked if you were real or not, Pietro." You shrugged.

"I thought I was a vampire baby or something not a puppe-,"

Let it be said that after this Pietro stayed clear of children's television shows and the game celebrity heads.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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